Relativity
by seren23
Summary: "You gotta remember that it ain't just what's in front of you that you need to look out for. It's everything around you. It's the whole scene." Post-Still, incorporating events in 'Alone' and going AU after that. Beth/Daryl UST. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was not going to write this. I told myself not to write this. But apparently, I don't listen very well. I think this will be three chapters.

* * *

Beth hefts the crossbow in her hands and feels the weight of it strain in her arms. Its day two of her 'training' as she calls it in her head and she takes a moment to make sure her fingers are in the correct positions. She lets her right foot edge forward and turns her body slightly sideways.

She doesn't do what she did the first time and close one eye while staring down the site of the crossbow. She keeps both eyes open and looks dead ahead.

Then she glances over at Daryl and asks, "Am I doing it right?"

"Better'n yesterday, that's for sure," he mutters.

Beth rolls her eyes and looks back down the trail, such as it is. The path feels more like a deer trail, rather than something a human would make and she walks slowly, keeping her footsteps as silent as she can, and hoping the struggle to hold the crossbow steady isn't showing.

"Just keep going?" she asks him quietly.

"Yeah," he answers, his voice low and just above a whisper. "Keep going."

She continues along the path until she comes to a dense thicket of brambles. Something makes her pause.

Maybe it's the fact that the forest has gone quiet around her. Or because they haven't run into anything threatening all morning. Or because she just doesn't trust her surroundings anymore. But something's not right.

She steps back and feels Daryl press in close.

"What?" he says next to her ear.

"Not sure," she says. "Just…something's making me stop."

He opens his mouth to say something but two walkers suddenly stumble through the brambles and Beth sucks in a breath. She lifts the crossbow and squeezes the trigger, the arrow going straight into the eye of one of them. He drops and Beth can't believe she actually hit what she aimed at, while Daryl rushes ahead of her and silently thrusts his knife up and into the other walker's head.

Beth blinks and lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. The whole thing happened in less than a minute.

Relativity, she thinks absently. This is what Mr. Travers was going on about in physics class. Time slowing down for some stuff and then speeding up for others.

She shakes her head. She'd never had much patience for science, and therefore it's typical she'd finally understand a fundamental of physics after the world had ended and there were no more exams.

She lowers the crossbow and gives Daryl a grin. "I don't know how that arrow managed to find its way into that thing, but I'm not going to question it."

He snorts and walks over to her, cleaning his knife. "It's called practice and you better keep doing it if you want to repeat it."

"I know," she nods. 'Cause she does know. It's why she asked him to teach her how to track and how to hunt. She knows she's capable. She also knows she's not Maggie or Michonne, but she's sure as anything not going to become a liability. Not to him.

She watches him check the walkers' bodies for anything of use, but judging by the disgust on his face, he's not finding anything. He straightens and gives her a look.

She stares at him. "What?"

"Forgetting something?" He looks pointedly at the arrow in the walker.

"Oh. Right." Beth walks over and pulls the arrow out, making a face at the sound it makes. She catches a smirk on Daryl's face and bumps his hip. "Don't be mean."

"Don't be a priss," he counters. "Why'd you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Earlier," he nods at the trail. "You stopped before they came out. Why?"

Beth frowns. "I don't know. Something didn't feel right."

He studies the area and nods. "Good to know you do have instincts. I wondered 'bout that."

She cocks her hip and glares at him. "Hey now, I have instincts."

He doesn't respond, just smirks at her as he brushes past her.

"Stop it, I do!" she says, starting to smile. "I have excellent instincts."

"You're out here in the middle of nowhere with me," he says heading back to the trail. "That doesn't speak all that well to your instincts."

"Please," she says following him. "You're my best chance out here. I stick with you, I'm going be fine; which just means I have stellar instincts."

"Well, then keep listening to them," he says turning and looking at her. His eyes are bright and blue and she feels something warm and heavy curl in her mid-section. "Something doesn't feel right, you listen to it, you hear me?"

"I hear you." She's embarrassed that her voice has gone all breathy, but she can't help it. Not when he looks at her like he's looking at her. All serious and heavy and intense. She clears her throat. "When something pings, I'll listen."

He squints at her. "Pings?"

"Yeah, you know," she gestures with the crossbow. "Ping. Like in that movie with the submarines. Whenever something approached them, it pinged on the radar."

"You mean that one with Sean Connery as a Russian?" he asks, still squinting.

"Yeah! Daddy loved those kinds of movies," she says and she's proud that although the thought of her father still hurts, it doesn't stab in her chest like it did a few days back. "If something pings on my radar, I'll tell you."

He nods. "Good. Now get back to it."

Beth tracks for the rest of the afternoon, until her arms are visibly shaking from the weight of the crossbow. She manages to find some rabbits, but isn't sure of her aim on something so small, so she wordlessly hands the crossbow to Daryl. He effortlessly kills one of the rabbits and they walk for another hour, until he looks up at the sky.

"Better make camp soon," he says. Beth nods, rubbing at her arms. He notices and says, "They achin'?"

"Little bit," she admits.

"They'll get stronger," he says. He hesitates and before he turns away, he says, "Did okay today."

Beth lets herself smile broadly at the wings on his vest before she says, as cool as she can, "Thanks for showing me this stuff."

He shrugs. "Figure I'd better. Can't have you thinking this is some kinda vacation."

Images flash in her mind, full of blood and the sounds of screams and she says quietly, "Not much a chance of that happening, don't worry."

She's following him so close, she can see him pause, but he keeps going and doesn't say anything else.

They walk in silence while he looks around for a place to make camp; but it's not the tension-filled silence of a week ago where Beth thought she'd start screaming just to fill the space. This silence is better, it's warmer somehow. Sometimes Beth thinks he's just humoring her, letting her tag along out of some kind of inner nobility or even allegiance to her father. Other times, she wonders if he's keeping her near because being alone is far too frightening these days.

Sometimes though, in rare moments that she only allows herself a fraction of a second to dwell in, she wonders if he's staying with her for herself. That maybe, just maybe, he likes her.

The moment the thought forms she tells herself to hush and do something useful because honestly – 'maybe he _likes_ her?' How childish can you get?

Daryl finds a large live oak tree with thick roots that a body can sit between and lean against trunk. He walks into the woods to skin the rabbit away from the camp while Beth gets a fire going. She then sets up their alarm system of some cans and rope along the perimeter. It has just gone twilight when he gets back, rabbit ready to go on the spit.

It's not until they're eating that Beth realizes they haven't spoken since he made the comment about vacations and she stares at him in disbelief.

He looks at her and furrows his brow, still not talking, just silently asking her what her problem was.

"It's nothing," she answers his look. "It's just… When I was a kid, Maggie made up a game called How Quiet Can Beth Be to get me to stop talking to her non-stop." She frowns. "I wasn't very good at it."

"I bet," he says around a bite of rabbit.

"Shush," she says primly. "I had a lot to say when I was eight, thank you very much."

He snorts but keeps eating.

"It's just funny," she says after pulling off a strip of meat and eating it. "I'm just noticing stuff more than I used to and it's weird."

"Like what?" he asks, mouth still full.

"Well, stuff like silences," she says, wedging herself against the root of the tree. "I always thought silence was silence. I didn't realize there were all different kinds." He doesn't look up, but he doesn't tell her to shut up, so she keeps talking. "And time. Time is real weird now."

"How so?" he asks rubbing his hands on his knees and leaning back against a root of his own.

"Well, like today," she says finishing off her rabbit. "It took less than a minute for those walkers to come at us and for us to kill them. But it felt so much longer. But when I was taking care of Judith and it was a good day and she was smiling and learning something new, it was over in a heartbeat. It's all relative to the type of moment you're in." She breathes in deeply. "I just never felt it so strongly 'til lately."

"End of the world'll that to you," he says looking up into the tree branches above their heads. "Gives you new kinds of perspectives."

She smiles as she tilts her head back to look up, hoping for a glimpse of a star or two. "Einstein knew what he was talking about, I guess."

"What's Einstein got to do with it?" he asks.

"Oh, the relativity thing," she says still looking up. "It's his theory of relativity that I was talking about. The whole fast-slow thing."

"Never paid much attention in science," he says, shifting.

"Me neither," she says cheerfully. "But a teacher once said that was the cool thing about science. You didn't always have to understand it to use it or see it when it happened."

"Guess so," he says. She can feel him looking at her. It's a new feeling that's quickly becoming familiar and welcome. His gaze reminds her of her grandmother's crocheted quilts, warm and heavy, and if she closes her eyes she can almost smell the cedar chest they were stored in. She opens her eyes and looks at him, but he's looking into the dark woods around them.

They sit for a few more minutes in one of those new kinds of silences she was talking about earlier, until he says, "I remember that relativity thing, I think. Saw something on PBS once about it. Something about black holes, too."

Beth looks back up at the canopy of tree branches. "I remember the thing my teacher said to get us to understand what he was talking about. About how touching a hot plate for a second can feel like an hour, but touching a hot woman for an hour can feel like a second."

He makes a strangled sound and she looks at him and grins. "Not that I'd know," she adds. "Haven't been touchin' that many hot ladies recently. How about you?"

"Knock it off," he says grumpily, but she can hear something that might be amusement in his voice. He grabs his crossbow and settles in, keeping his eyes on the perimeter. "Get some sleep. You're on tracking duty again in the morning."

Still grinning, Beth nods and rests her head against the trunk of the tree. "Sir yes sir. Wake me when you want me to spell you for watch."

"Yeah," he says. "I'll wake you."

She sighs and closes her eyes. She's asleep in seconds.

Beth dreams.

She dreams of her home, of the farm. She walks into the living room and its dark, the only light is the one that glows from the lace her long-dead grandmother is steadily crocheting. Beth walks to her and kneels by her side. Her granny's face looks like how Beth remembers her - calm and lined with soft wrinkles. She glances at Beth and smiles.

"I'm crocheting this for my boy's new wife," Granny says. "She's such a sweet thing, like you, Bethy."

Beth wants to tell her that her boy's dead. He was struck down by a bad man with a sword and there was so much blood. But she doesn't say a word; she just watches the click of the needles as they crochet lace made from glowing light.

"Remember to keep those eyes open, sweet girl," Granny says. "So you can tell me all about it when you come see me."

Granny raises her head and looks at Beth and her eyes are black holes and something warm lands on her shoulder and she wakes with a sharp intake of breath.

She blinks and sees Daryl peering down at her, his eyes worried, his hand gentle on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asks hoarsely, fragments of her dream flitting about her mind.

"Nothing," he says still looking concerned. "Your turn for watch."

Beth nods and takes the crossbow and sits up. He leans back and studies her.

"I'm fine," she says moving to sit on top of one of the large roots. "Just...dreams."

He nods and then sits down in the warm spot she's just vacated; his head now level with her lap, and closes his eyes. His breath deepens in seconds as he falls asleep. Beth waits a minute or two and then his head turns and he rests forehead rests against her thigh. She's not sure what it all means, his keeping contact with her while he sleeps, but he's done it every single night since they burned that house down and she likes it.

Beth rubs at her eyes with one hand and then stares out into the night. The forest is still and the air is just short of chilly, the scent of scrub pine and earth drifts over her.

_Keep your eyes open, sweet girl_ echoes in her mind and her dream swirls to the surface of her thoughts.

Now that she's awake she can rationalize her dream easily. Her grandmother had lived with them on the farm until her death when Beth was eight. Granny had always asked after Beth's day - what happened in class, what did the other children wear, what did she have for lunch and Beth had always made sure to remember the details to tell her when she got home in the afternoons.

Add to that Daryl's warning to trust her instincts and Beth's dream makes perfect sense.

Her grip still tightens on the crossbow and she fights the urge to rest her hand on Daryl's head, to reassure her of his presence. Instead she focuses on the weight of his forehead pressed against her and lets it calm her.

"Just a dream," she murmurs. "Let it go, Bethy."

She turns her thoughts towards the night and keeps herself awake by trying to remember the lyrics of Dixie Chicks songs.

But deep down inside her, something quietly pings.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favorited! This chapter incorporates some of the events in 'Alone' but goes in another direction. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead or any of the songs mentioned.

* * *

"You gotta remember that it ain't just what's in front of you that you need to look out for." Daryl's voice is soft and low behind her as Beth walks slowly forward, crossbow in her hands once again. "It's everything around you. It's the whole scene."

She pauses to let him sidle up behind her and she hopes that he takes the flush in her cheeks to be from the sun and not the delicious impact his voice has on her nervous system.

"Tell me what you see," he says coming in close, his breath teasing strands of her hair on her neck. Goosebumps break out over her skin and she really needs to get over this crush of hers. It's making things difficult. Like breathing normally, for one.

"I see…tracks of some sort," she says quietly, her eyes darting all over. "The leaves on the ground are green, which means they didn't fall naturally; they were brushed up against. There's dead leaves clumped together and dragged. And…that's it?"

She glances at him and blinks to see his eyes staring right at her. He shakes his head and she frowns.

"I missed something?" she asks.

He nods.

She turns back to the trail and stares. "I don't see it."

He points up to just above her eyeline at broken off branch. "Oh. Crap." She lets the crossbow fall. "If it was a snake it've bitten me."

"Easy mistake to make," he says tugging on her ponytail briefly. "But you gotta look all around you; that means up, not just down." He rubs his forehead. "Learned that the hard way."

"Don't tell me you actually ran into a tree limb?" she asks, smiling.

"'Kay, I won't," he says, ducking his head and walking ahead of her.

"Oh my God, you did!" Beth says, utterly delighted.

"Shut up," he mutters, but there's no heat to it and when he looks back at her, the corners of his mouth are turned up and Beth grins.

"It's just nice to know that even Daryl, the biggest badass this side of the Mason-Dixon, bumped his head on a branch once," she says.

"Brat," he says. He gestures back at the trail. "Get on with you. I aint' doing this for my health, you know."

Beth gives him one last grin and then walks ahead of him following the tracks on the ground, crossbow raised up.

After a few minutes, she's fairly sure it's a walker they're tracking and she says as much.

"Maybe it's a drunk," he counters.

"I'm getting good at this," she says, hefting the crossbow in her arms, then adds lightly, "Pretty soon I won't need you at all."

"Yeah," he says behind her. "Keep on tracking."

She doesn't mean it, of course. In fact, she can't really imagine a time when she won't need him. And she's not just talking about his survival skills, but about how his presence both comforts and stirs her up. No one's ever riled up her insides like he does and she doing everything she can to ignore the flutters and the warmth that spreads out from her diaphragm when he touches her.

Her dream from the night before and his support in teaching her has her more determined than ever to be good at this. She's not going to be some liability and she's going to keep her eyes open.

She focuses on the woods around her and soon she hears the sounds of something eating noisily. They edge up to a clearing and the walker's there, hunched over something. She looks it over and spots a gun in its belt.

"It's got a gun," she whispers.

"Go on, then," he murmurs back.

That little alarm system inside of her is pinging like crazy and she chalks it up to the walker that she's slowly creeping up on.

Then there's a sharp, piercing pain in her ankle and clang of metal and she's down on the ground, her breath knocked out of her. The walker turns and heads towards her and she aims the crossbow. She doesn't aim high enough and it hits him just short of his brain, but Daryl's there, grabbing the crossbow and killing it with a heavy swing.

She looks down at her ankle and is relieved to see the trap is a small one and there's no blood, which means it hasn't pierced the leather of her boot. God, so much for keeping her eyes open. Daryl crashes down beside her and quickly takes the trap off her. She lets out a breath and winces at the ache in her ankle.

"Can you move it?" he asks, his fingers pressing along her foot and ankle.

"Yeah," she says breathlessly. "Think it's just sprained. Damn it."

"Could've been worse," he says. "Keep your boot on, don't want it to swell up too much."

He looks up and around the clearing while she sees how much she can move it. It hurts like anything though. Worse than the time she twisted it on the stairs at school and she knows it's going to be a lovely rainbow of blue and purple when she takes her boot off.

"Can't stay here," he says, grasping under her arms. "Too open. Gotta find some shelter so you can take the weight off it."

He helps her to her feet and she's kind of impressed that his touch can make her feel all tingly even while her ankle's screaming blue murder at her.

"Lemme see how much weight I can put on it," she says and he lets her go. She tries to take a step and her ankle just buckles. She falls forward and her hands clutch at his vest.

"Easy," he says, his hands going to her hips as he helps her right herself. "You ain't walking on that."

She looks up at him, feeling useless and thinking she's going to see exasperation written all over his face. But all she sees are his eyes wide open and looking her over, his hands are gentle and strong on her body.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I feel like an idiot."

"Don't," he says, his voice rough. "Those traps work 'cause they ain't obvious. Come on."

Her face is aflame with embarrassment and the feel of his arm curved around her waist, helping her keep the weight off her ankle. She holds tight to the top of his vest and her fingers brush against the hair at the nape of his neck as they walk.

They manage a rhythm of sorts, her injured leg between them, and taking a step when he does.

She lets out a sigh.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "So much for my stellar instincts, though. They were pinging away and I just ignored them. Dumb, huh?"

He doesn't say anything for a few minutes and she's about to tell him to never mind, when he says, "Mine aren't working so good at the moment either. Don't take it so hard. You're new at this."

"I s'pose," she says, hitching herself a little closer to him to balance better. They walk through the woods and she can tell they're approaching something because the trees are thinning and she can see flashes of gray in the distance.

They emerge from the treeline and Beth stares at the house just beyond a small cemetery. Does someone live there? She winces as her ankle seizes up and she has to stop.

"I just need to rest for a minute," she tells Daryl.

She experimentally shifts some weight onto her foot and is surprised when Daryl's back suddenly appears in front of her.

"Hop on," he says.

Beth blinks. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he says glancing at her over his shoulder. "It's a serious piggy-back."

She bites her lip to hold in a giddy smile then does as he says and hops on. His hands are large on her thighs and she tightens their hold on his hips when he starts to walk towards the house.

"Maybe someone's there," she says.

"If there are, let me handle it," he says, hitching her up a little.

Beth squeezes him briefly before saying, "There are still good people, Daryl."

"I don't think the good ones survive," he tells her and something inside her shudders and agrees with him. She tries to push the unsettling thought out, but something on a gravestone makes her lower her legs from his grip.

He stops and looks at what she's looking at.

She can't say anything; she can't feel anything besides this cold that's invading her chest as she stares at the inscription of _Beloved Father_. She's never going to see her daddy again. Never going to feel the soft flannel of his shirts under her cheek as she hugs him. She's sad and she's angry and she's so tired and her ankle is throbbing and at that moment she feels too tired to even generate a single tear.

So she just stands there and watches Daryl put a handful of wildflowers on this stranger's grave and when he stands next to her, she can't help the way her body just falls into his. He's standing there so still and strong and his fingers interlace with hers and she can't remember even reaching for his hand, but there it is – solid and real in hers.

It's that solidity that does it. She lets herself think that maybe he's wrong. That she's pretty darn sure there are good people left because one of the best of them is holding her hand.

That feeling stays with her as they explore the funeral home and it gets even giddier as he carefully eases her boot off in the basement, the smell of the bodies hidden under the scent of formaldehyde.

She chuckles as she looks around, before letting him help her hop up onto the counter. He stops with his hands on her hips and stares at her.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"Just having one of those 'how is this my life' moments," she says. She gestures at the bodies in their nice suits and pancake make-up. "I'm getting my ankle wrapped because it got caught in a bear trap. I'm in an undertaker's basement and I'm not even blinking an eye at the fact that there are two dead bodies in here."

She grins as she looks at him. "In fact, I'm considering this a good day."

He shakes his head and smirks. "Your standards are slippin'."

"Tell me about it," she says still grinning. She jumps a little when he slips off her sock and his palm cups the back of her ankle.

"I hurt you?" he asks looking up at her and she shakes her head, unable to say anything. His hand looks massive next to her small foot and she fights off a tremble, hearing Maggie's voice in her head telling her to 'play it cool, Bethy.'

She looks down at her ankle yep, she was right about the bruise; she's going to have a respectable-sized one all around her ankle and the top of her foot.

"Wasn't a bear trap, by the way," he mutters, as he trails a finger over two indentations where the trap gripped her foot. His nails are bit down to the quick and his calluses catch on her smooth skin and it feels incredible and her nerve-endings are like fireworks, firing crazy and random explosions all over her body.

"No?" she says watching his fingers as they press on her foot.

"Naw, more like a trap for little things," he says. "Like a fox or a little bunny."

She looks at him and sees that he smirking. Her eyes narrow and she punches his shoulder lightly. "Stop making fun."

"Stop making it so easy," he retorts.

Beth huffs out a laugh and watches him wrap and tape up her ankle so that it's steady.

Afterwards, she pulls her boot on, and before following him up the stairs, she looks at the bodies again.

It _is_ beautiful; the care that was shown to these people; the precision in the dressing of their bodies. But she frowns for a second when something pulls at her memory. And for a moment, the room feels wrong and frightening but she can't put her finger on what it is…

"Hey," Daryl calls to her. "You need help up the stairs?"

The unsettled feeling leaves her and is replaced by her earlier hopeful thoughts as she smiles up at him. "Nah, I'm good."

She follows him up the stairs to the kitchen. She's holding tight to the thought that there is still goodness in the world and the sight of food in the cupboard reinforces it.

It's reinforced again when Daryl says that they'll only take what they need and leave the rest for the original owners.

"See," she says, feeling something close to happy. "I told you there were still good people."

He looks at her and then holding her gaze, leans towards her and her stomach erupts into flutters which dissipate when he shoves jelly-covered fingers into his mouth.

"Gross," she says, rolling her eyes and heading towards the kitchen table.

"Those pig's feet," he says pointing, "are mine."

"You are welcome to them," she says opening a drawer and grabbing some spoons. She sits down and rests her ankle on a chair. She hurriedly opens the peanut butter and the first bite makes her moan as the sugar hits her tongue. "Oh, Lord, that's good."

She manages several more spoonfuls before she notices Daryl just staring at her, his fingers inside the jelly jar. She frowns and wipes her mouth. "What?"

"Just never seen someone eat peanut butter like that before," he says shrugging. "Look like a walker with a sweet tooth."

He scoops out more jelly with his fingers and she makes a face. "Sure you don't want a spoon?" she asks.

"Naw," he says, licking his fingers and Beth tells herself again to stop it with the crush, because someone licking their fingers like that should not cause heart palpitations.

She distracts herself by sliding a spoon over to him. "Still, those big ole man-fingers of yours aren't going to be able to get the stuff on the bottom."

He studies the jar, holds it up to his mouth, then just tilts his head back and the jelly slides into his mouth. Beth bursts out laughing and he grins at her. Flat out _grins_ at her and the world and the death and the horror slips away.

Beth manages to stay in that good space in her head for the rest of the afternoon and rests her foot while Daryl fortifies the house. She eventually wanders into the viewing room with an empty coffin on display and sits down at the piano.

She tries a quick scale and can't believe the thing's in tune. She wonders at the owners of the place and thinks they can't be too far away. A piano can go out of tune real quick in the humidity.

Her fingers slide easily over the keys and she starts to pick out the song she'd been teaching herself before everything went awful. She hums at first and then sings softly.

She sings for a few minutes before Daryl clears his throat behind her. She whirls around and watches him come inside the room.

When he situates himself in the coffin she has the urge to yell at him to get out. That he's tempting fate somehow. But, hey, a pillow's a pillow and if he doesn't mind it, how can she?

"Keep on singing, if you want," he says looking at her with unreadable eyes underneath hair that's getting too long.

"I thought my singing annoyed you," she says, drumming her fingers on the piano seat.

"Yeah, well, there ain't no jukebox, so." He just keeps looking at her and well, she likes the feel of the keys under her fingers, so she turns around and picks up where she stopped. She sings through the song and then pauses to roll her shoulders.

"Know any others?" he asks. She gives him a look over her shoulder that clearly states, 'Hell, yes, I know others'. He quirks a corner of his mouth up and she flexes her fingers thinking about what to play.

His statement about the jukebox brings a song to mind; the first song she ever learned on the piano and she smiles.

"_I try to think about Elvis, Memphis, Oprah in the afternoon. I try to think about palm trees, fig leaves, the creature from the Black Lagoon_," she sings out launching into the old Patty Loveless song, keeping her voice as soft as she can. She pauses for a breath and hears him chuckling. She looks over her shoulder as she sings on, "_I just can't concentrate. You're all I think about these days._"

His eyes dart away and she turns back to the piano, seamlessly continuing into the next verse. After Patty, she does some Emmylou Harris, then Bonnie Raitt. She exhausts all her female country vocalists until her voice is aching and she stops with a sigh and caresses the keyboard.

"You're pretty good," he says after a few minutes.

"Singing always made me happy," she says getting up, and stumbling a bit when she puts weight on her stiff ankle. He moves to get out of the coffin, but she waves him back down, using the line of chairs to make her way over to the couch against the wall. "My momma sang all the time. Except she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Same here," he says settling back into the coffin. "Merle could, though. He did a mean 'Ring of Fire' when he was in the mood for it."

Beth smiles and lays flat on the couch, propping her foot up on the arm rest, as she sings as deep as she can, "_I fell in to a burnin' ring of fire_."

Daryl snorts. "Something like that."

She stares up at the ceiling and asks, "What should we do tomorrow?"

"You're doing nothing," he says, "apart from letting that foot heal. I'll look around for a vehicle. I saw a garage down the way."

She nods. "All right."

They lay in silence for a little while, the sounds of early evening fading outside to night. She hears the crickets start up and the call of an owl in the distance.

"Got any more of your science facts to share?" Daryl asks out of the blue.

Beth lowers her gaze from the ceiling to the back of his head. He's got his arm propped up on the lid of the coffin, his thumb rubbing lazy swipes across his forehead.

"Umm, well." She thinks for a second. "Did you know that they were starting to think that there may be parallel universes? Right on top of this one?"

"You mean one where I was born a millionaire and not some Georgia redneck?" he asks.

"I think that was the idea," she says grinning at the ceiling. "And while you're a millionaire, I was born in Paris and spoke French and baked pastries."

"Guess we never met in that universe," he says.

"Wrong! See, I own a bakery and you're on tour, 'cause you're a millionaire rock star and you love chocolate," she says laughing. "And so you come into my shop and fall in love with my baked goods."

"You're nuts," he says craning his neck to look at her. "Can you even bake?"

She shakes her head and grins at him. "Nope. I tried to make brownies once and Daddy had to get out the fire extinguisher on them."

"Crazy girl," he says, slumping back down in the coffin. "Nice to know I get outta Georgia, though."

"Yeah," she sighs. "But maybe these universes aren't all that different from this one. Maybe it's more that we take the left turn instead of the right turn."

"Gotta be better than this one, though," he says.

"True," she says, although being in this dark room with him, with the crickets and the quiet night outside…it doesn't feel so terrible. She shifts her foot and pain radiates from her ankle and she's brought out of her nice thoughts. She breathes in and out and then says quietly, "I hope alternate universe Beth and Daryl are having a nice night."

He doesn't say anything for several minutes and she thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he says, just as quietly, "So do I."

She smiles to herself and closes her eyes.

She startles awake a few hours later and stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling wondering where she is and what woke her up. Daryl's heavy breathing from the coffin nearby reminds her. She presses her hands to her face and winces when she moves her ankle. It's still sore and now it's stiff, too.

She sits up and tries to remember what woke her. Something about make-up and something her Daddy said once about her grandmother's funeral? But that doesn't make any sense. She shakes her head and settles back onto the couch to go back to sleep.

Then it hits her. The thing that was bothering her and what woke her up. She looks around the dark room and it no longer feels safe and quiet and her internal alarm system is pinging loud and shrill.

Beth gets to her feet and gasps at the pain in her ankle when she uses it, but she hobbles over to Daryl and grabs his shoulder.

He's awake in an instant and sitting up, asking, "What, baby? What is it?"

"I'm pinging," she says, curling her fingers into his shoulder and ignoring (for the moment) what he'd just called her.

"What?" he asks, raising a hand to her face. "Beth, what?"

"I'm pinging!" she says again. "Daryl, we can't stay here! Something's really wrong."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Last chapter! The response to this story has just made me giddy! I cannot thank everyone enough. I'm thinking about writing a sequel to this story, so please let me know if you think that's a good idea.

I have definitely taken some artistic license with the layout of the houses from 'Alone'. Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead.

* * *

"Something's wrong," Beth says as she looks around the room and then back at Daryl. "It's something Daddy said when my granny died. About how they couldn't keep her body out longer than a day because of the chemicals or something and how it was sacrilegious to do it longer and that's why—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up." Daryl eases out of the coffin and guides her over the couch. "Breathe and start over. What's got you riled up?"

Beth breathes in and out slowly; then she says, "This place? It feels like a trap."

Daryl's eyes narrow and he looks around the dark room, his hands clenching. "Okay. Go on."

"When my granny died and we went to see her at the funeral home for the viewing," Beth swallowed, "Daddy said that she was only going to be out for a night; just enough time for us to see her." She leans forward and points towards the hallway. "Why is that guy still in his coffin on display? Why isn't he buried already?"

Daryl tenses and shifts. "Maybe they haven't gotten round to it."

"Maybe," she nods. "But something doesn't feel right, Daryl. Where's the personal stuff? You know, clutter? Why's it so clean? Why're the only things in this place bodies and a cupboard of food?"

"All right," he says nodding. "All right." He grabs his crossbow. He paces for a second, then faces her. Pointing at her, he says, "Stay there. Imma look around."

Beth nods and grips the handle of her knife as he leaves. Her eyes dart around the room, finally fixing on the one large candle that's still burning.

It feels like hours before he comes back, but she knows it was only a few minutes. He shakes his head.

"Can't be sure, but I thought I saw a light in the woods," he says pacing in front of her.

"Someone's watching us?" she asks, her skin crawling.

"Don't know. Could've been nothing, but now that you're talking..." He hefts the crossbow. "Shit. Shit!"

"I'm sorry," she says looking away.

He stops pacing. "What the hell for?"

"Well, I was going on and on about there being good people and thinking that this place was something safe and now we're stuck in this trap and-"

Beth stops talking when he kneels down in front of her and puts a hand on her knee. She stares at him.

"We ain't stuck," he says lowly. "And this ain't your fault. I got distracted by food and soft pillows and that's on me. We ain't trapped. Hear me?"

"I hear you," she says staring into his eyes. "What are we going to do?"

His fingers tap on her knee. "Don't know. Wait 'til light, then we go."

"I could be wrong," she says softly.

"You ain't," he says ducking his head and catching her eyes.

"How do you know?" she asks.

"Hell, ain't you the one who said you got 'stellar instincts'? 'Sides, something's too good to be true, it usually is," he says. He squeezes her knee and stands up. "I'm going to be by the door and keep watch. You rest that ankle."

Beth nods and watches him leave the room. Now that he's up and on her side, she feels better. She lies down and props her foot up, telling it to heal up quick, because who knows what's going to happen tomorrow.

She only manages an extra hour of sleep before he's gently shaking her awake. Her eyes pop open immediately and she looks at him.

He shakes his head. "Naw, ain't seen nothing, yet. But we're outta here today."

"What if they're watching?" she asks.

"That's why we're leaving out the back," he says watching her get to her feet.

"Thought the front door was the only entrance?" she asks, frowning down at her ankle and praying that it's strong enough to walk quickly on.

"We're going out the windows in the basement," he says and she looks up at him.

"Are they big enough?"

"They'd better be," he says. "Or I'm gonna renovate them 'til they are." He nods at her ankle. "How's it feeling?"

Beth takes a step and winces. "It hurts, but I'll manage."

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile and says as cheerfully as she can, "I'm gonna have to, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he says reluctantly. "Come on. Grab your stuff."

They spare a few minutes to grab some food from the kitchen and then they head down to the basement. The bodies no longer represent something beautiful to Beth and she cringes away from them.

The windows are going to be a tight squeeze, but she's sure she can get through. She eyes Daryl's waist and backside and thinks he can, too. He glances back at her and catches her scoping out his butt.

She blushes and says, "Just making sure you'll fit."

"Uh huh," he says smirking. "Just for that, you're going first."

"You just wanna check out my ass," she says, gingerly getting on to the table he's shoved against the wall.

"Fair's fair, Greene," he says steadying her with a hand on her waist.

"Jerk," she mutters as she starts to squeeze through the window. But it's easier than she expected and she's soon on the outside and reaching back in for their bags.

She moves back and hovers nervously, eyes darting around while Daryl pulls himself through the window. He grunts and for a second she thinks he's stuck, but then he's through and standing next to her.

He takes his bag and crossbow from her and leans in close to say, "We're going to head towards those buildings over there." He points down the road at some small sheds. "Then we're going to wait."

"What?" she asks frowning. "We're not going to move on?"

"I want to see what's going on," he says, eyes narrowing. "'Sides, that ankle of yours ain't going to get us too far. Come on."

They skirt around the bushes, keeping low and trying not to expose themselves to the woods and the road. They get to the sheds and with a sharp yank on the chain with his knife, Daryl gets them inside. The small window on the side gives them a good view of the funeral home. Beth leans against a worktable and tries to take the weight off her foot. She hates to admit it, but he was right about her ankle; it's throbbing and sore.

"Right," he says looking out the window. "You stay here and I'm going to scout out an exit plan through the woods behind us, away from the road."

"We may not need it, you know," Beth feels compelled to say. "I mean, I really could be wrong about all this."

"Yeah, but we haven't gotten this far to not keep playing it safe," he says. He looks her up and down. "Ankle hurtin'?"

She nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Keep it propped up." He looks around and puts a stack of old magazines on the worktable. Then he steps up close to her and before she knows it, he's got her in his arms.

"Holy crap!" she says laughing as he sets her down on the worktable. It's over too quickly for her to really savor the experience, so she just smiles at him. "Daryl!"

"Stay put!" he says pointing at her. "And don't move that ankle. I'll be back."

"What if they come back?" she asks, scooting so that she can rest her shoulder against the wall and prop up her foot.

He looks at her knife. "What kills a walker, kills a man."

She goes cold all over, but nods anyway.

"I won't be gone long," he says. "Keep an eye out and get down if you see something coming."

And then he's gone. Beth rubs her arms and looks around the shed. It's empty apart from moldy boxes in the corner and stacks of magazines on the ground. She turns to stare out the window, feeling on edge. Her usual method relaxing, remembering song lyrics, isn't helping. And she doesn't want to think too hard on the fact that Daryl called her 'baby' when he woke up, 'cause that just leads to madness because there's no way he meant it in any kind of a romantic way. Right?

She shakes her head and pushes the thought from her mind and tries to recall all the words to Carrie Underwood's songs.

It's a good hour before he comes back, his hair ruffled and sweat beading on his forehead and it's about time, because Beth is about to crawl out of her skin.

"Got us a way out that might lead towards more houses; but they're a ways off," he says walking towards her. "If they come back, we can head that way."

Beth nods. "I'm glad you're back," she says. She blinks and looks away. She hadn't meant to say that, but he's just nodding and hopping up on the table to sit across from her.

He nods his head towards the house. "Seen anything?"

"Nope," she says. "Not a soul."

He grunts and rubs at the dust on the window. "We will. We'll see something."

They sit in silence and Beth finds that she's breathing easier now than when he was out looking around.

Daryl lets out a huff of air and says, "This is that relativity thing, ain't it?"

She looks at him in surprise. He shrugs. "Well, this feels like it's taking forever."

"We need a hot woman to make the time go faster, I guess," she says grinning.

"Got you," he says, absently. Her eyes widen and so do his and then he's blushing and so is she and she can't hold in a surprised giggle while he tries to recover and says, "I mean… Not that you ain't… You ain't… I mean, you… Shut up."

Beth just covers her mouth to muffle her laughter. "Thanks. I think."

"Shut up," he just mutters again.

"It's okay," she says, dropping her hand. "No one ever thought about me like that. Maggie was always the hot one."

He glances at her. "What were you?"

She makes a face. "The nice one."

"Nice is all right," he says awkwardly.

"I thought so," she says, tracing shapes in the dust on the table. "I didn't mind it. Figured that was what we're supposed to do. The Golden Rule and all that; being good to one another and helping out."

"Once upon a time, that's how it was," he says glancing at her.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Once upon a time."

They're quiet for several more minutes, before Daryl sits up. "Heard something," he says when she straightens and looks at him.

They peer out the window and Beth thinks she can hear an engine idling in the distance, but the only thing that moves into view is a thin, white dog.

"What the hell?" Daryl mutters.

The dog sniffs the bushes around the house and then trots up the stairs, going past their tin can alarm system. It sniffs around the door and then turns to run down the stairs, back towards the road.

They don't make a sound and sure enough, the faint squeal of brakes is heard.

Beth turns to look at Daryl who just keeps looking out the window.

"What was that about?" she whispers.

"I don't know," he says, sitting back, his brow furrowed. "I mean - a dog?"

"Well, is it like a decoy?" she asks. "Something to make us go outside?"

"Who'd go after a dog?" he asks shooting her a look.

She smiles and raises her hand a bit sheepishly.

He chuckles. "Yeah." His face hardens again. "This is fucked up, I can feel it."

"Should we go?" she asks.

"Probably." He doesn't say anything else.

She waits for a minute, then asks, "Are we gonna?"

"Give it a little while longer," is his answer.

She stares at his profile for a minute before asking, "You really are all about the whole picture, aren't you?"

"How do you mean?" he asks facing her, his head ducked down, but his eyes meeting hers.

"Well, with all the tracking," she says leaning forward. "You're all about seeing everything that's in front of you, so you aren't taken by surprise." She nods at the window. "That's why we're staying put. You wanna know what we're up against."

"Seems the thing to do," he says, looking away.

Something else dawns on her and it almost brings her to tears and she knows she shouldn't say anything because it's only going to make him go quiet on her, but it just comes out: "There was no way you could've stopped that man from killing Daddy."

He stills and she just waits.

"You don't know that," he eventually says in the lowest voice she's heard from him.

"No, I s'pose I don't," she says, tilting her head to rest against the shed wall. "But I'd like to think I know you. A little bit, anyways. And I know if you'd even had the slightest hint that that..._man_ was coming for us, you'd've done everything in your power to stop him."

He still isn't looking at her, but the muscles in his neck aren't as tense as they were a second ago. It's still a good five minutes before he looks her in the eyes.

"I ain't letting nothing happen to you," he says, his voice steady and firm.

"Good," she says lightly. "'Cause I ain't letting nothing happen to _you_."

"Guess we got a deal, then," he says.

Beth holds out her hand and he takes it. She smiles and squeezes and he returns the pressure, mouth quirking up into a smile of his own. Reluctantly, she lets go of his hand and he lets it fall onto her leg.

They both turn to look out the window.

"Got any of that jelly?" he asks, nodding at her bag.

She rummages in it and with a grin holds up a jar of grape jelly and a spoon. Predictably, he just takes the jar.

The rest of the day is spent staring out the window in shifts as neither got much sleep the night before. When night falls, Daryl immediately shifts into hunter mode, and Beth surprises herself by doing the same. She gets quiet and her hand settles on the hilt of her knife.

An hour past sundown, they hear it - an engine. Soon after that, they see the dog from before running towards the house. Beth frowns and leans towards the window. Then she covers her mouth with her hand.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl hisses beside her.

A group of walkers is stumbling after the dog, down the path to the funeral home and then up the stairs where they crowd around the door, hands slapping at the wall of the building futilely.

"What the _fuck_?" Daryl whispers as he gets off the worktable. "Who the fuck are these people?"

Beth just shakes her head slowly. Absently, she notices the dog running back the way it came, a few walkers stumbling after it.

"Come on," Daryl says as his hand wraps around her elbow. "Let's get outta here."

Beth nods silently and grabs her pack, then follows him out the door.

Her ankle's screaming at her, but it's drowned out by the feelings of horror and disbelief warring in her head. She follows Daryl closely as they walk through the woods, neither saying a word.

She's not sure how long or how far they walk, but Daryl slows down when they approach a dark shape with a magnolia on one side and a pine on the other. It's a rusted out old pick-up with long-since flat tires and he motions for her to get in, holding open the driver's door.

"Are we safe?" she asks softly, her voice breaking on the words.

He doesn't answer and after a brief hesitation, she gets in, sliding past the moss-covered steering wheel, the leather seat crackling beneath her body. Daryl follows and pulls the door shut.

They sit and stare out the cracked window shield, not saying a word.

"We'll be okay here 'til morning," Daryl says, his voice scratchy and distant.

Beth can't even find it in herself to nod; she's only just managing to breathe in and out. Several more minutes creep by.

"Why?" she asks eventually. "For what purpose on this earth would someone do that?"

She can still see the stream of walkers banging on the door of the funeral home and it's just not shifting out of her mind.

"Beats the fuck outta me," Daryl says.

"Figures, though, doesn't it?" she says, her voice breaking again. "First time we find something halfway decent, it's a trap made by who knows what." She sighs. "Just breaks your heart a little bit more, I guess and I don't know how much more of this I can stomach."

She can tell he's looking at her but she can't make herself move. Despair is seeping into her bones and she curls her fingers into her palms.

"Don't," he says quietly. "Don't go there, Beth."

She finally looks at him and he's just a shape in the dark, the moon weakly illuminating his cheekbones, the rest of him in shadow.

"Why not?" she asks him. "What we just saw? People trapping other people only to throw walkers at them? For no reason? That was messed up! That was…I don't have the _words_, Daryl! And I don't have the _energy_ to try to even make sense of it!"

"I know," he says voice still quiet. "Just, don't go thinking there's nothing good out there, all right?"

"Why not?" she repeats, a harsh laugh coming out. "Daryl, you said it yourself: the good don't last out here."

"You've lasted out here," he says simply.

Something stutters in her chest and she realizes it's her heart skipping a beat. 'Cause he's just looking at her. Really looking at her. Like he's seeing something in her. Something deep, deep inside of her and like he's _grateful_ for it and she's looking back and oh.

"Oh," she breathes and the cab of the truck feels small. Tiny. Minuscule. As if every breath she breathes out, he breathes in and every bit of her tingles and she _wants_.

He looks down and away, saying, "Forget it. Don't have to mean anything."

"But it does," she says softly.

She notices that his trigger finger is twitching and knows that she's about to watch him get out of the truck and pace through the woods all night and she doesn't want him out of her sight. So she slides over quick and presses in so that her forehead's against his throat and slides her hand over his heart and murmurs, "Don't go."

She feels him freeze and his heart thrums hard and fast under her palm, but he doesn't move and she counts that as progress.

_But progress towards what, Bethy?_ a voice like her daddy's says in her head.

_Not sure, Daddy,_ she thinks. _But something. Something good._

It's awkward leaning on him like she is, but she doesn't want to let go and eventually, his body relaxes and he turns his head towards her, and she lifts her face from the crook of his neck. He just looks at her and then expels a deep breath.

"Come 'ere," he says, moving his arm around her. She settles in beside him, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and she just curls up next to him, her hand still on his heart. She feels him press his lips to the top of her head and she closes her eyes

"Don't go," she whispers again.

"Ain't going anywhere," he whispers back.

And the rest of the night passes the way time used to - steady and even - each minute ticking on as it should.


End file.
